


Behind These Eyes

by Venom211



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - High School, Human Castiel, Hurt Dean Winchester, M/M, Protective Castiel, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-14 03:48:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12999204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venom211/pseuds/Venom211
Summary: Dean has been keeping his family life a secret  for as long as he could remember. Dean made sure no one knew about this secret, even if it meant dying for it. His plans on keeping this secret seemed fool proof until he met his English tutor, Castiel.





	1. Art Thou

Dean looked down at the letters scrambled upon the pages in his book. They twisted and turned into knots and tangles on the page. He couldn't comprehend any of it. The art’s and thou’s were splattered upon the page like an artist would splatter paint on a canvas and call it art. But this was not art, this was not a story. This was a headache. This was his failing grade. This was written by some drunk who was only writing this because he was a hopeless romantic and had nothing better to do than write about other hopeless romantics dying in the name of love. If you asked Dean, it was complete bullshit.

At seventeen, Dean had very little interest in love and even a lesser interest in Shakespeare. In fact, according to Dean, they were very much alike. He felt that anyone who had in interest in either of them were either lying or were trying to make a career out of it. 

“What the fuck does this even mean?” Dean yelled in frustration, shoving the book from his desk and onto the floor. It fell page down in the muddy water Dean had tracked in from outside, after being in the pouring rain. He knew he was going to have to pay for the book later because of the few filthy pages. 

“Retard!” A student yelled. There was a loud chorus of laughter around him, a loud ringing in his ears. 

“Fuck” Dean grumbled to himself. He couldn’t help but to feel embarrassed. He always had the “seen but not heard” attitude to him, and the first thing that the class heard from him, besides the few smart-ass remarks he made to the teacher, was that he couldn’t read from a simple, freshman level Shakespeare book. “Maybe if they died sooner, this would have been over by now,” Dean thought to himself. The whispering and snickering continued and began to annoy Dean.

Dean stood abruptly and grabbed his bag and his cracked, leather jacket. He began to head towards the door, when he heard the teacher protest his actions and order him to walk back to his seat. He shook his head and walked out of the class. He didn’t have an idea of where to go and what to do. All he knew was that if he would have stayed in there any longer he would have snapped and school was not the place to release all of his bottled up emotions. 

Dean stormed off into the bathroom and locked the doors. He didn’t want to be seen or bothered by anyone. He hated school enough as it was and now he was going to be the laughing stock of the classroom. “But what if the story got out to the rest of the school?” Dean thought to himself, but pushed the thought to the side. He didn’t think people would put enough effort into ruining a reputation he never had, besides being the snarky, quiet kid. Dean had just transferred a few months ago, and didn’t plan on making any friends. He stayed there and hoped no one would knock on the door while he was hiding away from his embarrassment. “Fuck this school,” he thought to himself. 

He continued to hide in the bathroom until that class was over with. He went to his next class and kept his head down low to avoid being noticed. After his mishap in English, he didn’t want to have another in math. He worked silently and asked no questions. He kept his head down and his eyes on his own paper. Even when he was finished, he didn’t want to stand up and hand it to the teacher. All he needed was another class to think he was an idiot. Not that he cared anyways, but he didn’t want to be looked at as the kid who couldn’t do anything right to save his life.

After three more long classes, school was over and Dean went to get his brother, Sam, from his middle school. Sam was six years younger than Dean. Although he was in a public school full of rowdy kids his age, Sam was still a wonder to Dean. He usually kept his nose in books about science, but horror fiction always kept a place in his heart and his library of book he stole from his last school. Dean applauded his behavior. “It would have been worse,” he always said to himself. “It could have been drugs,”.

“So how was school?” Dean asked Sam, who was still fumbling with his jacket zipper than was falling apart. After he managed to zip it up, to fight against the fall weather, he looked up at Dean.

“It was okay. There's this girl I like. Her name is Jessica but I just call her Jess. It's short and cute like her.” Sam said, smiling. Dean adored how open he was with him. 

“That's good,” Dean said. 

“Yeah. But a lot of people might like her too,” Sam, muttered as he sighed softly.

“But if she likes you back you don't have any competition,” Dean shot back smoothly. Sam smiled and nodded. Dean smiled back. He could still see the tiny bits of innocence left in his eyes that he never wanted to see go away.

The rest of the way home, Dean kept Sam busy with talking about Jess and his overall day at school. Dean could tell that Sam was holding something back but decided not to press the issue. 

Once they had made it home, Dean told Sam to go to his room and do his homework. Sam groaned but he knew that if he didn’t the school was going to call about another missing assignment. Sam was a good kid but he never liked doing things he was forced to do.

It was one hour left until John, their father, came home. Dean began to wash the dishes. After, he had swept the floor. He even turned the television to John’s favorite station before he got there. When he opened the door, Dean was just opening John favorite bottle of beer and setting it on the small dinner table by his Lazyboy chair. John didn’t say anything to Dean, and Dean was grateful for that. He just walked away and glared at him from a distance. 

There was nothing Dean wanted more than his father to be a father. Dean wanted Sam to have a real father more than anything instead of Dean pretending to be one. Sooner or later, Sam was going to break just like Dean had years ago, and it was going to tear Dean apart. 

Dean went to his room where Sam was doing his homework. “The king has resided in his castle and is sleeping right about now,” Dean joked. Sam nodded and erased his answer for the fifth time already. He knew it, but like Dean, he was stressed but for completely different reasons. 

“Kids make fun of me at school,” Sam sighed. Dean sat next to him and frowned.

“What do they say, Sammy?” Dean asked, leaning against the wall.

He turned to him and pouted. “My hair's too long, my clothes are old, and I’m the tallest one in my class!” 

Dean sighed and hung his head low. “Sammy, I’m sorry. I mean, some girls like long hair and tall guys. And you know I'm trying to get a job. Don't guilt me Sam.” Dean sighed again and looked at the tattered leather jackets hanging on the wall, and the worn out dresser that stored even worse looking clothes.

“I guess you're right. I'm sorry, Dean. I know there's nothing you can do right now,” Sam said as he frowned and pretended to look over his homework. 

“But when I can I'll do everything,” Dean said, ruffling his hair. Sam nodded. 

Before John had the chance to wake up, Dean began making his steak, potatoes, and frozen vegetables just to make the dish look nice. John never ate them. For Dean and his brother, he made frozen pepperoni and spinach pizza. It wasn't Sam's favorite, but Dean was sure it had the food groups all in one. Grains. Meats. Vegetables. Fruits. Dairy. Lots of oil. Good enough for Dean. 

He placed the pizza in the oven while he cooked his father's meal. They were both done at around the same time. Dean cracked open another cold beer for his father and set the food down at the table in front of the television. Dean and Sam ate at the dining table in silence. He wished his father would step up, ask Sam about his day, praise him for his grades, complement his height, give him girl advice. But he didn't. Dean had a feeling he never would. 

Dean laid in his bed while Sam laid in his own, across the room. Today was a good day compared to all of the others. Dean was content, but all he could think about now was school. He’d made a complete fool of himself, and they weren't going to let him live it down. Dean Winchester? No. He was going to have to live with the names they were going to give him until he graduated. And he'd be in the yearbook as “most likely to fail in life”. Amazing. He never really cared about what was said about him, as long as he never had to deal with it first hand. He stared up at the ceiling until his eyes fell heavy. He pulled the covered over his head and began to fall asleep.


	2. Before The Fall

Dean woke up the next morning before anyone else. He looked over at Sam, whose bed was on the other side of the room. He closed his eyes briefly and sighed, dreading the day ahead of him, then got up. The back of his hair was in all directions and the front swooped down over his forehead. His eyes were red and tired and dry drool was matted on the corner of his lips. He took a plaid shirt and a pair of jeans before heading to the bathroom. 

He looked at himself in the bathroom mirror, vision still a bit blurry, but he could still make out that he looked a mess. He leaned over the sink and splashed cold water on his face to wake himself up. He still felt exhausted but his vision had gotten better. After he took his shower and styled his hair, he went to the kitchen to make breakfast for Sam, John, and himself. He was hoping the sound of clattering dishes and the popping of grease didn’t wake the sleeping bear. He set the two plates in the microwave and grabbed his bookbag and leather jacket, hurriedly leaving the house as he began to hear his father stir from his sleep.

It wasn’t the usual autumn chill Dean was used to. Stepping outside he expected to get hit by a cool gust of wind, but instead was greeted by a shining sun poking out from behind the clouds and a mild heat that was definitely out of place for that time of morning. The breeze was light and calming as it crept its way into his jacket, making him not get too warm as he began his trek to school.

The closer Dean got to the school the heavier his feeling of anxiety became. He didn’t want to go through what happened the previous day, but he was new at this school and these people already seemed to dislike him, so he felt like he’d have to redeem himself of what happened yesterday. None of the students seemed to pay attention to Dean as he walked through the halls. Everyone acted as if he never existed, which to him was amazing. He didn’t go to his locker, instead going directly to his first period, English. He was the first student to get to class. He walked in to see a person he hadn’t seen before talking with a teacher. He looked too old to be a student, but couldn’t be a teacher either. Either way, Dean ignored them and went to his seat. As soon as Dean went to rest his head in his arms he heard a voice address him.

“Dean, there is someone I’d like for you too meet,” Mr. Jones called out to Dean. Dean slowly lifted his head, already annoyed by the intrusion. “This is Castiel, an intern from the local college. He was going to teach the entire class for a week, but I was thinking of making him your personal tutor for the class,” Dean raised his eyebrow in surprise. That wasn’t at all the sentence he’d been expecting. “It would be for the best after what happened yesterday,” the teacher added.

He looked past Mr. Jones to the man behind him. He looked barely older than Dean, but obviously _older_ , with dark hair and insanely blue eyes, and a warm, inviting smile on his face to top it all off. He looked too… nice. Dressed in a button up shirt and skinny jeans, too, so he was obviously smart. And he’d be Dean’s tutor which was… embarrassing. It’d make Dean look like more of an idiot than he did on his own. So, without thinking, Dean spat out “ _Fuck_ no!”  
“Dean! This man is willing to help you advance in literature for free and that’s all you have to say?” Dean rolled his eyes. 

“I don’t need anyone to tell me how to feel about something that was written hundreds of years ago. Yes I get it, piece of work, amazing, but how will knowing what happened in Romeo and Juliet help me in life?”

Mr. Jones sighed and looked at Dean, Dean was looking at Castiel, staring at his composed face and watching his warm smile falter. Castiel looked at Mr. Jones.

“Sir, would you mind if I talked to Dean alone for a moment?” He asked, voice more gruff than Dean had expected. The teacher nodded and stepped out of the room to let the two talk. Castiel made his way over to Dean and crouched down in front of his desk to be eye level with the boy. “Hi,” Castiel greeted warmly, smile creeping back onto his face.

“I don’t need you,” Dean told him immediately, not wasting his time with pleasantries and rather getting to the point. 

“I don’t doubt that,” Castiel agreed, again to Dean’s surprise.

“Then why are you talking to me?” Dean asked curiously, unsure of the older man’s goal.

“Because I’m a student teacher and I’m hoping to teach in the future. All kids. Kids like you,” Dean scoffed at his answer.

“Kids like me,” he repeated, voice showing the offense he took at the words. Castiel chuckled awkwardly, then backtracked.

“I didn’t mean it as an insult. I just mean that… every kid is unique and learns differently and I’m going to have to need experience with all types. You’re unique, Dean,” Castiel told him, voice never changing from that constant soothing tone. And Dean understood how the man in front of him operated.

“Okay, let me get this. You need experience and you’re smooth talkin’ your way into my pants, right?” Before Castiel could answer, Dean continued. “Hey, _whatever_ , Cas. It doesn’t matter to me because you can’t charm me into looking like an idiot.” Castiel tilted his head to the side, and knitted his eyes together as he tried to process what the younger male had just said.

“Why would I make you look like an idiot, Dean?” He asked honestly, sounding a bit shocked at the idea that Dean would even suggest that. Dean rolled his eyes, but explained nonetheless.

“We’re in a _Shakespeare class_ full of pretentious asshole seniors who are so full of themselves they can’t see out of their own ass. If you tutor me during this class, _I’m_ automatically the dumbest one in here, and you know what happened yesterday I assume. The only thing you’d be helping me with is making more of a fool of myself.” And Castiel understood, remembering how it felt to be the odd-one-out from his own experiences in high school. So, he made an offer.

“Then I’ll tutor you after school,” he suggested, not missing a beat in the conversation. “At some nice, quiet cafe or something. I can just sit in here with Mr. Jones during the day instead of singling you out specifically,” Dean was silent as he thought over the offer. “No one will see us there,” Castiel continued, “and you won’t look like an idiot. But accepting help wouldn’t make you look like an idiot, anyway. It will only show that you are open to a new way of thinking. Think about it. They will all know the same thing, learn in uniform, but you, Dean, will be different,” Castiel explained, hopeful that his speech would convince Dean. 

Dean just sat quietly, though, thinking everything over in his head. “I… I have a little brother. I have to get him after school and we both—”

“He can come with,” Castiel interjected. Dean bit his lip.

“We usually have to get home straight after school…” His voice trailed off as he thought about his father and what would happen if he didn’t have dinner ready in time. 

“It shouldn’t take too long. Maybe we can have a, let’s say, forty-five minute session? We can cover the basics of _Romeo & Juliet_ and go through the first two acts. What do you say?” Silence. Undeterred, Castiel continued. “Would you like me to call your parents and explai—”

    “No!” Dean snapped immediately, startling Castiel, then composed himself. “I, uh, no. No, no, I’ll talk to them myself. But, sure… I’ll meet up with you afterwards.” Dean agreed reluctantly. Castiel’s smile brightened. 

“Great,” He agreed as the warning bell for first period chimed. “I’ll even buy coffee,” he added as he stood and walked over to Mr. Jones’ desk as students filed into the classroom. Dean put his head down on the desk again, knowing this wasn’t going to end well for him.


	3. Toy Soldiers

“So Romeo and Juliet’s death was never the tragedy. The real tragedy was their family’s brawl. Yes, death is the realist form of a tragedy but I think the thing that lead to their deaths are more tragic. And the happy ending is the parents putting their pride aside and getting along for future generations,” Castiel said, looking at Dean to make sure that he was following along. “Do you get it? Should I explain in more realistic terms?”

Dean nodded slowly, “Yeah,” he stated simply. Castiel, unconvinced, nods anyway.

“Like depression and suicide” he carries on. When someone commits suicide, it’s always more upsetting that they killed themselves because of depression than if someone died of old age. It’s all about how cause and effect and the cause is also more hectic in my opinion”. Castiel continued on with cause and effect and depression until Dean cut him off. 

“I'm listening!” He insisted, “I just gotta go soon,” he looked across the café to spot his brother sitting farther off and talking to a few other kids his age. He was so excited when Dean had told him about the tutoring session, stating that Harvelle’s, the cafe, was where a few of his friends would go to do homework. Among them was the owner’s daughter, Jo, and Sam’s crush, Jess. Dean decided to leave him to his own devices while he and Castiel went over the material, but it was starting to drag now.

“Sammy,” he called, getting the boy’s attention. “We’re leaving soon,” and Sam nodded, understanding perfectly. Dean nodded in return, then looked back at Castiel. 

“Well, we should just stop here. You seem to be in a hurry? Trying to catch tonight's game?” Castiel questioned with a slight chuckle, attempting to make conversation. Dean didn't have cable, but he didn't have time to think of a lie, so he nodded and looked back at his watch. 

“Alright, Sammy. Let's go,” Dean said, standing from his seat. Sam began to shove papers into his binder and packed it into his bag. Dean looked down at Castiel who was packing his own things neatly into his bag and they hurriedly said their goodbyes. Dean headed towards the door and Sam followed him out.

The walk home was quiet and it had gotten cold. The evening sun was completely concealed by the clouds and the cold breeze pushed it's way into the openings of Dean’s jacket. Sam's cheeks were turning red from the cold as he tried his best to bury his face into the collar of his own jacket. Once they had gotten home there was very little light showing through the windows. If the house wasn't so well kept, you would have thought I was abandoned. 

Dean checked his watched one last time as they entered: 5:30. _Shit_. They were late, Dean hadn't realized that it had taken them that long to get home from the café. Dean looked over to find John sitting in his recliner, hell blazing in his eyes. 

“Where the hell were you?” He yelled, standing up from his seat. Dean immediately shrank into himself, his posture becoming slouched and tense, making himself look small before his father.

“It was really important,” Dean mumbled, looking down towards the floor, finding it hard to look his father in his eyes.

“As important as your curfew?” He snapped, voice booming through the room and bouncing off the walls, vibrating Dean’s eardrums. The boy flinched and debated whether he should tell him the truth or not. But he was already late, he didn't want to seem stupid, too. 

“Dad it was,” Sam protested from behind Dean. His voice was low, _small_. John had a tendency to make everyone feel that way.

“Sammy, shut up. Just go into the room and do _not_ come out,” Dean ordered, voice stern. Sam looked up at him and nodded solemnly—he knew the routine. He ran to their bedroom and locked the door behind him.

Dean was relieved, at least Sam was out of the way. Now if only he could think of a way to placate his father…

“Dad, listen. W—” His sentence was cut short by a blow to the gut. Dean doubled over in pain, clutching his stomach and gasping for breath. Too late for talking. Before he could catch his breath, John grabbed him by the shirt and roughly pinned him against the wall.

It didn't last long, ten seconds at most—an obvious show of strength, to show Dean that he shouldn't even _think_ about fighting back—then John threw Dean down to the floor, kicking him in his already aching stomach. Dean could do nothing but curl up on the floor and try his best not to vomit. He considered trying to get up and drag himself to his room, but then he remembered Sam (who was was most likely sitting on his bed red faced and covering his ears) had locked it. No escape. So he just… lied there. Waiting for it to be over and… trying not to feel.

Eventually it ended, an unknown amount of time passing for Dean, and he crawled to his feet. He walked to their bedroom, holding his gut as he did so, and lightly knocked on the door. Sam let him in.

“You can't let him do this to you forever,” Sam told him softly after Dean had lied down on his bed. He whispered it, knowing their father had not gone to sleep yet. Dean didn't respond immediately, taking this time to actually rest. Sam frowned, but said nothing as he went to lie on his own bed, the two falling into a silence.

Dean knew Sam was right, though, but the only reason he endured the abuse was _because_ of Sam. He knew that if he wasn't here for his father to smack around, he’d go straight for Sam. Even if Dean stood up to him or left, John would still have custody of Sam. Dean would had no money, no house, and he couldn't let Sam get filed into the system and be forgotten about due to the needs of the younger children. He just couldn't tell Sam he puts up with it all for him. 

“It's nothing, Sammy,” Dean started after a while. “Just make sure you stay out of it. Focus on your studies and let me handle everything else, yeah?” Sam just nodded and stood up.

“Do you think he would have stopped if he knew why you were out?” Sam asked climbing onto Dean’s bed, making sure his brother was okay. Dean just shook his head, not bothering with what ifs. He stopped doing that years ago. 

“He'll never miss out on an opportunity,” Dean said with a sigh. “Just make sure that you're never an option.” With that he fell silent again, body weak and crying for rest.


End file.
